


El amor es ciego

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Contains a bit of blood and gore, Introspection, Mentions of Suicide, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: It doesn’t matter how long he’s known the man, now, he still rolls his eyes when he hears Magnus Bane’s voice. It’s instinctual, based on decades of an indescribable but clearly meaningful relationship. It would be hard for a mortal to fathom, even though Raphael was hardly old by any means, the way a relationship can weave through everything, producing the unlikeliest of scenarios and emotions.





	El amor es ciego

He twirls the crucifix between his fingers, relishing in the burning sensation when it rolls across his collarbones and neck, reminding him he is, in fact, still alive. It brings back memories of a time before New York, when the sweltering afternoon sun of Mexico still touched his skin, casting everything in golden light and warmth, always resulting in higher spirits around his household. Now, even after all this time, he can only stare longingly out of the window, wanting nothing more than to feel the soft caress of the warmth from the sun on his skin, even if New York barely compared to Mexico in terms of its beauty. The streetlights always flicker, the unavoidable sound of pedestrians and cars ever present.

“It’s like you enjoy moping beside the window, Raphael.”

It doesn’t matter how long he’s known the man, now, he still rolls his eyes when he hears Magnus Bane’s voice. It’s instinctual, based on decades of an indescribable but clearly meaningful relationship. It would be hard for a mortal to fathom, even though Raphael was hardly old by any means, the way a relationship can weave through everything, producing the unlikeliest of scenarios and emotions.

“It’s like you enjoy interrupting silence,” Raphael turns his head back slightly, from his comfortable seated position beside the window, shooting Magnus a glare, “ _Magnus_.”

“On the contrary,” Magnus sits across from him, all limbs and glitter, yet still startlingly put-together, “I think it’s _you_ who can’t handle silence.”

Raphael huffs. “Como siempre,” his eyes flicker to Magnus, looking him up and down scathingly, “you are wrong.”

Magnus seems to consider this, though he always seems to stare more intently whenever Raphael reverts to Spanish. Raphael never did ask him why this was, though his senses attuned to two possibilities: he couldn’t fully understand what Raphael was saying, as his grasp of Spanish was considerably less distinguished than other languages he spoke, or he simply enjoyed listening intently.

“Sweet Raphael, always so grouchy.” Magnus’ eyes crinkle, and Raphael is reminded for what seems like the hundredth time of just how feline the man actually is, from his constant insistence to be the centre of attention to his disregard for anyone who doesn’t comply. The way he stretches languidly, eyes flickering anywhere between murderous and contented in a matter of seconds.

It was hard for Magnus not to see some of himself in Raphael, as had been the case since he’d first taken him in when he was only fifteen. Though Raphael’s family had eventually adjusted after Raphael had more control, the semblance of normality was a dual-edged blade. For all of the normalcy of a family life he'd had after he'd learned control, Raphael was still deprived of the humanity and finiteness that came with it. He could sit at the family table, but not eat. He could wear his crucifix, albeit in constant but bearable pain because of it, but only managed to walk across hallowed ground for longer than a mere moment. He would not see the signs of aging in himself, though he would be constantly reminded of what he was by the cold touch of his fingers and paleness of skin that only retained a slight bronze, where his family had all aged alongside him considerably. Vampire eyesight only exacerbated the differences when he could eventually see every wrinkle that formed and the dullness of his mothers once brilliantly brown eyes becoming cloudier by the day, up until she passed away.

It was on those days, when he found his vampirism unbearable, that he would seek Magnus, in a fashion similar to the earlier days of their relationship but with less verbal acknowledgement. He’d sit, much as he was now, on the window seat in Magnus’ loft, looking exceptionally young but beyond his years simultaneously. His eyes are always drawn to the scar lying between Raphael’s collarbones, faint in the dimmed lights of the room but always a reminder.

They were similar in more ways than one.

 

_He’s quiet, staring only at the blood on his hands and nothing else, eyes unreadable as his chest rises and falls rapidly. Even when Magnus moves to kneel beside him, he remains staring at his hands, clasping and unclasping his fingers, the stain of blood reaching from his fingertips to his wrists, hands trembling._

_“It wasn’t meant to happen like this.” His voice is soft, a reminder of his age and fragility, regardless of the carnage around him. “We were trying to help.”_

_“I know.” Magnus’ voice is gentle, but firm, his hand delicately grasping Raphael’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze, a reminder that he’s not currently alone. Even though Raphael acknowledged his introduction, only once his mothers name left Magnus’ lips, the boy was hesitant even though his situation had affected him so profoundly._

_“Dios me perdone por mis pecados,” Raphael clutches his necklace in his hand, flinching but not letting go, his eyes swimming with guilt, “what I have done. It is not forgivable.”_

_“Forgiveness comes with time.” Magnus thinks of his mother, for a moment; the kind eyes of a woman who stared at him with adoration until his heritage became apparent, how she had found it unbearable. Magnus never was quite sure if it were because of her involvement in creating him or just general fear and disgust, but the pain lay in the fact he would never quite be certain with it._

_“I cannot, I will not see my mother like this.” His voice trembles, his English still delicately lilted with the melodic nature of his Spanish, his hand grasping onto Magnus’s shirt. His eyes flicker to where the blood seeps into the sapphire silk shirt, like a macabre art display._

_“Lo siento.” his hand goes to move but Magnus grasps both of Raphael’s considerably smaller and shakier hands into his own, squeezing them._

_“You’ll be staying with me, for a while.” Magnus stands, pulling Raphael to his feet as well. “I will see to it that your friends are buried properly, and when the time comes, you can see them.”_

_He knows that hearing this so soon after standing over the dead bodies of his friends, as a result of his own actions, is not something Raphael wants. But he’s also aware that in order to move on into acceptance and control, somebody needs to be willing to tell Raphael things he needs to hear, as nobody had been there for Magnus as he’d stood over his mothers makeshift grave, sobbing into his own hands in the knowledge it had been his fault._

_Blame, guilt and uncertainty were a second language to all Downworlders._

 

Their first few months together were fraught with arguments, irritations and outbursts of every kind, not even just on Raphael’s part. It had been a long time since Magnus had shared space with someone, especially to this degree. Try as he might to protest it, Raphael had certain things he was reliant on Magnus for, which meant that more often than not he was surly at the fact he had to ask for anything. There was, additionally, the emotional aftermath of being a teenage boy who had murdered his friends and been separated from his family. Raphael didn’t know when, or even if, he would return to his family, and it weighed on him.

 

_“What happened when you first realised what you were?”_

_Raphael’s question breaks the silence that had been hanging between them since an earlier argument, over what, Magnus can’t be entirely sure. He rarely remembers, since the arguments started as quickly as they dissipated. The question does throw him off guard though, as up until this point, Raphael has steered clear of nearly any conversation that could involve either of their backgrounds or personal lives, clearly in the hopes Magnus would reciprocate and stop attempting to meddle with his coping mechanisms._

_“I didn’t-,” Magnus begins, biting his lip before turning to stare at Raphael, who is currently curled up at the other end of the sofa, head tilted, “I didn’t realise what I was first. My parents did.”_

_Raphael says nothing, as though he’s waiting for Magnus to continue, his eyelashes flickering as he blinks slowly at Magnus._

_“My warlock mark.” He says, trying not to stare out of the window. It hardly served him to shy away from his past when he was attempting to teach Raphael that he could learn from his own, it would only negate everything he’s been trying to tell him. “They saw my eyes.”_

_“Your eyes?” Raphael shuffles closer, almost crawling across the sofa until he’s beside Magnus. It’s the closest he’s been when he’s initiating contact. He stares, head tilted, at Magnus’s face, as though trying to distinguish what exactly he means. “They look normal to me.”_

_Magnus smiles to himself, looking away briefly before looking back at Raphael. His eyes flicker to a golden-green, the cat eyes that so many are familiar with now. The eyes, no matter how many times he’s told are beautiful, lead his mother to hang herself in the barn when he was just a boy._

_There’s a pause and a small gasp, Raphael’s eyes fixated on Magnus, his fingers twitching as though he wants to touch Magnus’s face. It’s hard not to smile at the wonder on Raphael’s face when the boy is usually so surly and stoic, preferring to read a book and glare over it at Magnus than engage in regular conversation._

_“Son hermosos,” he stares, eyes full of wonder, for once looking his age, “they are quite beautiful.”_

_He laughs, not being able to help it, “you think so?”_

_“I do.”_

 

It had always pained him, how difficult Raphael had found it over the years to see the person he was before his transition and the person he is now as the same. For all of his changes, the same boy who’d grasped onto his shirt decades ago was still the same as the one who competently lead the New York coven; he was shrewd, somewhat manipulative and enigmatic, to most. Beneath all of his dichotomies, though, Magnus knew that he was still sensitive. He despised those who questioned his loyalty and intelligence, and he still visited the graves of his family regularly. On those days, if Magnus happened to see him, he would speak only Spanish and on the rare occasion, actively seek out physical affection from Magnus.

This feels rather reminiscent of one of those situations.

“Everything okay, Rafa?” He stretches out his fingers to brush Raphael’s curls from his forehead, revelling in the small exhale, as close to a giggle as Raphael gets, he receives as a response. “You seem sad.”

Raphael stares at him, in the way only Raphael can; a mixture of curiosity, admiration and intimacy. “I’m reflecting.”

“On anything in particular?” Magnus stretches out, letting his legs drape over Raphael’s crossed-legged lap, Raphael just patting his legs in response, used to the behaviour by now.

“Everything.” Raphael’s voice is gentle, his eyes soft. “I think of my mother a lot, nowadays.”

His fingers run along Magnus’s legs, an absent-minded movement that has always soothed him, biting his lip. “I wonder what she would think of the man I am today.”

“She would probably grab you by the cheeks, in that way she used to,” Magnus imitates, leaning forward to grasp Raphael’s cheeks in his hands and pinch them gently, “to say _a mal tiempo, Bueno cara!”_

His smile is instantaneous, leaning his cheek towards Magnus’s hand and closing his eyes. “Whenever I used to be sad, she would say that to me.”

He, like he rarely ever did, leans towards Magnus to rest his head on Magus’s lap, delicately grasping onto Magnus’s leg. He looks up at Magnus, soft brown eyes full of sincerity.

“I never did thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” He nuzzles softly into Magnus’s lap, sighing a little when Magnus strokes his hair. “But it would never be enough.”

Magnus kisses his head, lips brushing so feather-light on Raphael’s head he barely feels it.

“You will never owe me anything in this world, Raphael Santiago.”

**Author's Note:**

> This relationship is deliberately written as ambiguous, as I believe their closeness and unique bond doesn't really warrant much of a label.  
> Spanish used:  
> "Como siempre" = As always  
> "Dios me perdone por mis pecados" = God forgive me for my sins  
> "Lo siento" = I'm sorry  
> "Son hermosos" = They are beautiful  
> "mal tiempo, Bueno cara" = 'In bad weather, a good face' aka 'when life gives you lemons' type phrase  
> "El amor es ciego" = Love is blind


End file.
